The Dancer and the Masks by Bea Paige
Chapter 10
CHRISTY
“You’re late,” Leon snaps as I step into the library situated deeper in their private apartment. Renard is standing directly in front of me, blocking my view of my captor.
“Apologies, Sir. Mistress was fatigued and needed a little longer to rest and recuperate. She is feeling better now,” Renard replies, his voice even, neutral. It angers me. I can understand Nala’s youthful belief in The Masks’ ability to change, but what’s Renard’s excuse? He’s an old man who must understand how the world works.
“Don’t apologise on my behalf. I’m not sorry to be late given I don’t want to be here at all,” I say, stepping out from behind Renard, the heat of the open fire wrapping around my bare legs as I move.
For a moment all Leon does is stare at me from his seat by the crackling flames. In his hand, he holds a crystal decanter and is swirling the amber liquid around and around as he takes his fill of me from behind his mask. Of the three, he scares me the most. He puts me on edge.
“Where are the others?” I ask, trying and failing to hide the tremor in my voice.
“They’ll be here shortly.” He raises the glass to his mouth and takes a sip, before turning his attention to Renard. Leon jerks his chin. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Yes, Sir.” Renard flicks his gaze to me, and I can’t help but notice the look of concern in his eyes. Despite it, he leaves me alone with his master, the door closing with a resounding click.
“You look exquisite,” Leon remarks. His words might be complimentary, but his tone is not. It’s predatory.
“Why am I alone with you?” I ask before I can stop myself.
A slow smile pulls up his lips. “Are you afraid, Nought?”
“I’m angry,” I say, refusing to look at him or give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he terrifies me. Instead, I allow my gaze to trail over the room. It’s a large space, the walls are panelled with dark wood that match the polished floorboards, and three of the four walls are covered in huge floor to ceiling bookshelves filled to the brim with books. The room has one window, but the heavy curtains are drawn, blocking the last of the afternoon’s sunlight from the space. Several lamps are dotted about the room giving it a warm, comforting glow. In another world, another life, I would’ve loved this room. Books are something I treasure, and yet all I want to do is get as far away from this space, and the man who dominates it, as possible.
“You didn’t enjoy being shackled to The Weeping Tree?” he asks after a moment, a note of humour in his voice that’s as dark as his soul. I snort, not deigning to answer him. “Okay, touchy subject… Let’s try again. You seem very interested in these books. We have another library in the East Wing, one that’s three times the size of this. If you’re good, perhaps Jakub will show it to you. He likes to read as well, you know. At least he did, once upon a time. ”
“What do you want?”
“You’re here to dance for us, of course.” He takes another sip of his drink, peering at me over the rim of his glass.
“No. I mean, what do you want?”
“Oh,” he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You think I arranged for this moment alone together, that I’m panting after you like Konrad is?” I raise a brow and fold my arms over my chest, trying not to show my nerves. “It’s true, Konrad is enamoured. He can’t wait to redden that perfect lily white skin of yours.”
“I’m not perfect,” I mutter under my breath.
If he heard me, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, Leon places his glass on the low table in front of him and pushes up out of his chair, striding towards me. Even though every single part of me wants to run, I stay rooted to the spot.
“You think you know me, Nought?”
“I don’t presume to know anything other than the fact you’re a demented bastard,” I hiss.
In a flash, Leon lunges for me, his hand coming up to grasp my throat as he crashes his body against mine, forcing me backwards until my back hits the door. “Fuck, you really do know how to turn me on. Keep going, see how far I like to be pushed.”
Our gazes clash and my breath comes out in short, sharp puffs of air as his fingers flex around my throat. “You’ve got an affliction. You’re ill.”
“You make it sound like there’s a cure,” he replies, his free hand sliding up my arm and across my shoulder until he cups the back of my head and brushes his lips over my ear. “Are you the cure, Nought? Is that it?”
“No,” I reply softly, trapped in his hold. Trickles of fear slide down my spine, but despite that I shift in his hold, turning my head so that my cheek presses against his masked face, and my lips brush against his ear. “I’m your mirror.”
“What?” he pulls back, his weight lifting off me as he presses the palms of his hand on the door either side of my head. Our gazes clash, but I refuse to look away. I refuse to back down.
“Every wrongdoing, every act of cruelty, debasement and pain that you intend to inflict on me will be reflected back at you. I will never, ever succumb to coercion or brainwashing like Four and Eight have so clearly done. I will strive every minute of every day to show you the darkness that swims inside your veins until you see nothing else. Until you see who you are. My name isn’t Nought. It isn’t Zero. It isn’t Nothing. It isn’t even Christy. I am the magic mirror from a fairy tale, I am the one who sees things, who reveals truths, and who never, ever, breaks,” I reply, pushing off from the door until he’s the one who takes a step backwards away from me. “You blame a good woman for your family's pain. But it wasn’t Marie. It wasn’t even Jan, who died of grief and heartache. It was Syzmon. This curse your family has befallen is because one man couldn’t see past the pain, and instead of trying to heal, he caused more of it. Just like his children, and their children after that. All the way down to you three. It’s been a never-ending cycle of destruction that will continue forevermore unless you face what you are.” I breathe deeply, my nostrils flaring as I reach up, my fingers curling around his mask. I push it off his face, chucking it to the floor. His eyes widen with shock, but he makes no move to react, stunned into silence. “So no, Leon. I won’t be your victim, your possession or even your cure, but I will be your mirror. I will make you see.”
His eyes flare with anger, with passion, with hate, but underneath it all there’s something else too. Respect. It might not be empathy or kindness, but it’s a start.
“Konrad was right about you,” he eventually says, crouching down to pick up his mask. “You’re a worthy foe. I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”
“Perhaps,” I reply, holding my nerve, aware of how close his face is to my crotch. “Or perhaps it will be me who’ll be breaking you.”
Looking up at me from his kneeled position, Leon puts his mask back on, securing it behind his head with swift, sure fingers. “You seem very certain of yourself, Nought,” he says, trailing his fingers over my ankle and up my calf as he peers up at me. His hands are cool, not warm. Smooth, not rough. His touch is gentle, not cruel. There’s no ownership in his touch, just exploration. It surprises me, knocks me off-kilter. “But do you know what I am certain of?”
“No, what?” I ask.
“That despite your fight, your apparent strength, you’re pliable. Inside that tough outer casing is someone who’s longing to be touched, kissed, fucked. You’ve lived a sheltered life. You’ve had no lovers, no friends except your dear old aunt and uncle, and Grim,” he spits out, throwing her name out like a curse. “Admit it, you like the excitement. You crave it.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t long for anything bar escaping here!”
“Like clay, we can mold you into what we want, what we need,” he continues, brushing off my half-truths like confessions in a church. “And you’ll love every second of it because deep down, you’ve always wanted to belong to someone. Well, now you belong to us. Don’t we all just want to belong in one way or another?” he says softly.
Something lurches inside my chest. Something unwelcome. Something I don’t want to acknowledge. All those nights I’ve dreamt of The Masks, seeing them in my visions, all those days these mysterious men have fought their way into my waking thoughts have finally come to fruition. For two years I’ve lived with these men inside my head, knowing that I couldn’t change my path. So why do I persist in trying to do that now? Shouldn’t I just accept what’s going to happen?
Licking my lips, I flex my fingers uncertain what to do. Fighting someone who is trying to hurt me, who physically restrains me, is easy, but his gentle touch and the truth of his words makes keeping him at arm’s length more difficult. I know this man isn’t to be trusted. Every cell in my body is telling me as much, yet the way he stares at me, touches me, soothes me with his melodious voice, lulls me into a false sense of security.
His gentleness makes me weak. The irony of that isn’t lost on me.
“Get your hands off me,” I say, doing the only thing I can in the moment, and whilst my voice is heavy with warning, it’s empty of conviction because deep down I know he’s right, at least partially. I have longed to be touched, kissed, fucked. I’m a virgin in every sense of the word. I haven’t lived, not really. I work, worked with the dying because I didn’t have to share the fact I wasn’t living. I’ve been cared for by my aunt and uncle, by Grim, without even trying to stand on my own two feet. Until The Masks kidnapped me, I hadn’t even stepped a foot outside my village, let alone seen any of the world. I’ve hid, not just because of my physical deformities, but because of who I am and what I can do.
“Am I right?” he asks, refusing to slow the steady creep of his hands towards my virgin pussy.
“You see what you want to see,” I lie.
“No. I see the truth. I see the tremble of your body as I touch you. The flush of your skin as I edge closer to your pussy. I see the hardness of your nipples despite it being warm in this room. I see your pupils widen with lust. You’re lying to yourself.”
“I tremble because I know I can’t win against a man who’s physically stronger than me, even though that won’t stop me from trying,” I counter. “My skin is flushed not because I want your touch but because anxiety is tearing me up inside. My god damn nipples are erect because I’m afraid, not turned on. You’re making assumptions based on how my body reacts. Why is that?” I counter. “Does it ease your conscience telling yourself that I want this, that I want you?”
He continues to slide his hands up my legs, gently, reverently, and I find my breath catching. I’m caught in his pull, just like I had been in the van with Konrad, and in their sitting room with Jakub. It’s no different with Leon, and I hate myself for it.
“You’re forgetting one thing, Nought. I have no conscience to ease,” he says, his hands stilling.
“You did once,” I mutter.
“What did you just say?” His eyes narrow at me and I swallow hard.
“No one is born evil, corrupt, twisted,” I reply quickly, not wanting him to suspect that I’ve found out anything about his past. “What did your father do to you to make you this way?”
“Sold me to The Collector when I was four to pay off his debts,” he says casually, as if he hasn’t just shocked me to the core.
“Wait. What? But you’re brothers.”
“We are in every single way that matters. But I’m not a Brov, only Jakub holds that title. We are, however, The Masks.”
“Konrad too?” I ask, meaning the part about being sold.
Leon meets my gaze and nods. “Yes, Konrad too. Jakub was born the year after I arrived, and Kon was brought here a year after that. He was six when his family sold him to The Collector, the same age as me when he arrived.”
“I—”
“Not what you expected?” he asks, his fingers circling over my skin. Soothing, distracting. My traitorous clit throbs.
“No,” I admit, trying to figure out if that knowledge changes anything. He may have been stolen too, but he’s still the man who kidnapped me, threatened me, chased me and captured me. He’s still the man who wants to hurt me despite the gentle way he touches me now.
“You said that you’re my mirror, so let me see my reflection in your gaze when I slide my fingers into your wet heat,” he says, his voice low, sensual. Full of challenge. “Let me see who’s right, me knowing that you want this or you lying about the fact that you don’t.”
“I don’t,” I whisper, but even as I say that I can’t seem to move, to breathe even. I’m caught in a place of shame, and shocking arousal as his finger traces along the seam of my pussy, and his hot breath flutters against my core.
“You’ve laid down the gauntlet, Nought. I’m not one to back down from a challenge. The sooner you learn that about me, the better.”
With his gaze fixed firmly on mine, his warm finger gently presses against the spot where my pussy lips meet. He rests his fingers there, watching me closely. I fix my face into a blank slate, refusing to let him see how much his touch affects me. He can’t know how close to the truth he is. He can’t know that I’ve longed for a man’s touch, that a tiny part of me, buried deep in my soul, has wanted to be craved and desired, or that his honesty and insight has touched me more than it should have.
“Stop it,” I protest, weaker now.
“I can smell your arousal, Nought,” he says, breathing in. My cheeks flush with heat at his proximity. If he were to tip his chin downwards, his lips would be millimeters away from my mound. “You want me to touch you, don’t you? You want me to bury my fingers knuckle deep in your ripe pussy and fuck you until your world upends.”
“No,” I reply through gritted teeth. “I don’t.” But as I say those words, I don’t push Leon’s hand away, I don’t move as he slides his finger between my folds and finds out just how much I’m lying. Behind his mask, his eyelids drop shut and a low growl rumbles up his throat.
“You’re a liar,” he whispers, his tongue slipping out from between his plump lips, wetting them. The tip of his tongue runs lightly over the material of my dress, grazing my mound as his fingertip rims my entrance. I have to fight back the moan desperate to release from between my clamped lips, and force myself to hate what he’s doing because enjoying this makes me no better than him.
It’s wrong.
“Stop,” I whimper, my hips rocking of their own accord as he presses a damp kiss against my mound, the soft material of my dress adding to the friction.
“Then fight back. Run,” he says, but it isn’t an order. It’s a request, almost a plea. Something’s shifting. Something fundamental.
“That’s what you want,” I choke out, barely holding myself together. I feel my seams parting, his words and his honesty, his touch and his attention, snipping at the fraying thread. He gently eases one finger into my core, whilst the pad of his thumb circles my clit with just the right amount of pressure. Two converse emotions war for my attention. Lust and hate.
I hate him. Yet I want to chase the physical feeling, the release he’s stoking. I want a man’s fingers to make me come. I want the man who’s visited me these past two years in my visions to draw out my pleasure. I want Leon to make me come. The thought is confusing and gut churning, but undeniable.
Staring down at him, I reach to cup his face, my fingers sliding into his hair. He flinches, but he doesn’t stop edging his finger inside of me, he doesn’t stop drawing out this potent feeling. It begins to unfurl, the tension in my lower stomach searching for release.
“I can be gentle,” he whispers so quietly I almost think I’m mistaken. For the briefest of moments, probably not even long enough to count as one, Leon leans into my hold, his eyelids drooping. He offers me a glimpse of someone I doubt many have seen before, and I know in that moment, I’ve weakened him. It gives me the strength to do what I must.
“I will never give you what you want… You’re irredeemable, ” I hiss, releasing him from my hold and pushing his hands away, rejecting him, rejecting this.
I have to.
His eyes harden. Then, like a switch being turned back on, the bastard returns.
“Then I will take it. I will fuck your cunt with my fingers and tongue, and make you scream my name all while hating yourself for liking it so much.” His words are crass, harsh, unfeeling, and like a bucket of water over crackling embers, they completely smother any last feelings of desire.
“Fuck you!” I snap.
Bringing my knee up, I slam it as hard as I can into his jaw, hearing the sound of bone meeting bone. His head snaps back, and the force makes him topple backwards just as Jakub and Konrad enter the room.